


Molten Gold

by Eevee10



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, I'm warning you it's very angsty, Implied Death, Off-screen Apprentice Death, Other, Slight Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25593253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eevee10/pseuds/Eevee10
Summary: "His steps brought him to the beach. The dawn was breaking, and he could see the small island in the distance, the Lazaret, where Lucio sent all his patients that were beyond help to die..." [...] "Maybe, brave and selfless and wonderful as They were, They had ignored Lucio’s orders and had hitched a ride to Lazaret, to help the patients pass painlessly."Self-indulged reaction of Julian when he finds out the MC has died of the Plague. It's very angsty, there's some self-injury, it's not a happy fic. Might not be too close to canon either, but I did my best. Enjoy (kinda).Gender-neutral Apprentice, so y'all can vibe.
Relationships: Apprentice & Julian Devorak, Apprentice/Julian Devorak, Julian Devorak/Reader, Julian Devorak/You
Kudos: 50





	Molten Gold

He looked for Them everywhere. At the shop, his clinic, the market, even the palace. Julian couldn’t find his Apprentice. He had stayed out all night, going from the Rowdy Raven to every bar and pub he could think of, hoping to find Them sitting at a table, drinking, sad, crying, but well. He had the slightest notion that there was something off with Them the past few days, but since he was deep into his studies at the palace, he didn’t know exactly what it was.

  
His steps brought him to the beach. The dawn was breaking, and he could see the small island in the distance, the Lazaret, where Lucio sent all his patients that were beyond help to die, where all the bodies were collected to be burned, so that they couldn’t infect anyone else. He sat at the small dock, thinking how many people had abandoned it to climb onto the boat that carried them across, just so they could die in agony, alone, to protect those they loved from the Plague. He caught himself thinking of Them again, how lucky he was to have Them under his wing at the clinic, how valuable Their help was to his research. If only he could find Them…

  
He was woken from his daydreaming by the splashing of oars. Raising his eyes, he saw a boat approaching from the direction of the island. The man rowing reached the dock, he tied the boat with a rope and exited, carrying a big sack on his shoulder. Not paying the slightest attention to Julian, who was observing him carefully, he undid the tie of the sack, turned it upside down, and emptied its containment on the wood of the dock. He then squatted and started going through the pile of clothes and shoes that turned out to be what the sack contained.

  
Julian, who was trying to figure out the meaning of the scene taking place in front of him, didn’t notice the scarf at first. The cloth shined with the rising sun, egg yolk-yellow, with iridescence threads that made it look like molten gold. He knew he had seen it before, and for a moment it seemed he’d seen it in his clinic. That made sense. If it was something one of his patients from the clinic was wearing, when they were taken to the Lazaret, it made sense to remove it before cremating the body. In fact, all of the clothes and shoes must belong to the recently deceased and cremated.

  
Then it hit him. He had indeed seen the scarf before. And he had seen it in his clinic as well. But it wasn’t worn by a patient. It was used as a headcloth to keep hair out of the way, as a mask to help avoid contamination, or even as a way to wipe sweat from a brow he knew all too well. Their brow. This scarf belonged to his Apprentice.

  
“No…” he whispered. It must be a mistake. The scarf must have gotten there by accident. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t find Them. Maybe, brave and selfless and wonderful as They were, They had ignored Lucio’s orders and had hitched a ride to Lazaret, to help the patients pass painlessly. Yes, that must have been it!  
“Excuse me!” he yelled at the boatman, who was trying to decide if the pair of linen pants he was holding in front of him was wide enough for his belly to fit.  
“Excuse me!” Julian repeated louder, when the man didn’t seem to notice him. As the sailor finally turned his attention to the tall doctor, Julian was already covering the distance between them in two large steps.

  
“Do you know when the Healer you took to the island is going to return? They have work to do at the clinic” he asked the boatman, with a reserved smile, in an attempt to look friendly. The man kept looking at him like he was speaking a different language.

  
“Uh…” Julian tried to think and, bowing down, he grabbed Their scarf and showed it to the sailor.

  
“The Healer who is wearing this… You must have taken Them with you to the Lazaret. They are there to ease the pain of the ill. I’m the Count’s doctor and They are my Apprentice, I really need Them with me. Do you know when They will return?” he said.

  
Without his face changing, the sailor spat between his feet.

  
“I don’t know what yer chirpin’ ‘bout, mister. I didn’t take no Healer across. Just yesterday’s dead and dyin’” he replied.

  
“But surely, you must have! That’s how the scarf got here, They must have dropped it” Julian insisted.

  
“What, this ‘ol thing? We undress all the bodies, mister, so they can be burnt easy. They put the clothes in the sack and let me keep what I like, and the rest goes to the poor”

  
“Wait… you mean that…”

  
“If yer student’s clothes are here, they got burned in the mornin’”

  
No… That can’t be true… They were fine just yesterday, when he saw Them… Or was it two days ago? Or maybe three? Suddenly, Julian realized he had no clue when was the last time he had seen his Apprentice. It could have been last week, for all he remembered. Definitely enough time for Them to fall ill, enough time for Them to…

  
Panicked, he pushed the sailor, who let out an annoyed “hey!”, to the side. He started digging through the dead people’s clothes. Maybe They had given the scarf to someone who was dying and they took it with them because it was comforting. Maybe it had gotten mixed up with the patients’ clothes at the clinic. Maybe…  
Julian’s hands stopped digging. He grabbed what he was holding tighter and pulled it out of the pile. A left shoe. Their left shoe. He started digging again, mad with agony. A shoe didn’t mean anything. It could have a perfectly normal reason for being there…

  
He found the other shoe. Their medical apron. Their white handkerchief was in the front pocket. Slowly, he discovered all of Their clothes. He piled them next to him. He must have seemed like a madman, because the sailor didn’t dare speak to him as he was searching.  
“Are you sure they were all cremated?” Julian finally asked, his voice broken, quiet.

  
“Aye. I took thirteen souls across last night. I counted thirteen pairs of shoes in the sack” replied the boatman.

  
Without another word, Julian picked up Their clothing and walked to the beach. He was sure the boatman wouldn’t mind. His steps got unstable as the sand got deeper towards the water. He let Their clothes fall, then he took off his gloves and his coat, letting them fall behind him, forgotten on the beach, and loosened the cord of his shirt. He didn’t stop when his boots sunk into the wet sand, where the waves licked the land. He made a couple more steps, and then his knees gave in. He collapsed, heavy, splashing water everywhere.

  
Julian turned his head to the sky, where the sun had properly risen by now. He took a deep breath, and when he let it out, it had transformed into a horrifying scream. His hands rose to his chest and manically pulled at his shirt, ripping it in half and leaving it open and torn upon his torso. He screamed again, this time trying to word a question, a demand, a tormented “why” that was cursed to remain unanswered. As the air escaped his lungs through his throat, ripping his vocal cords to shreds, he bent forward, towards the Lazaret.

  
And then the tears came. Hot beads that pooled underneath his lashes for a moment, and then made their way down his cheeks, plowed the skin, to be emptied into the ocean, salt meeting salt. He screamed again, and this time he pressed his hands against his scalp, ran his fingers through his hair, took fistfuls of his auburn locks and pulled, he pulled hard enough to tear them from his head. He barely looked human, as he mourned, sitting in the shallows to his waist, screaming towards the Heavens one word and one word alone.

  
Why?

  
Why did They die? Why did he allow Them to die? Why did the Count have to be so selfish, so damn self-centered, that he claimed him for himself alone? Why on earth didn’t he look in on Them? He shouldn’t have slept, he should have gone to the shop to see Them. He should have protected Them. What would he tell Asra? How could he go on living now?

  
The Apprentice was the only reason he had made it so far. They were the one to give him courage, They were the one making sure he ate, he slept. They were the one organizing his notes, his medicine and tools, They brought him herbs from the shop and leeches from the swamp. How could he have allowed this to happen?

  
Their smile haunted him. As he ripped his clothes and clawed at his face and pulled his hair, he could clearly see Them smiling at him over Their shoulder, as they washed blood-stained sheets and clothes. Their voice, warm, assuring patients they were in the best care. Their hands, soft despite the endless scrubbing, placing a hot cup in his hands. And Their lips, feather-like, tasting of bergamot, as he stole Their kisses in front of Their shop. He could never see Them, he could never hear Them or taste Them again. They were gone. And he was as good as dead himself.

The Palace soldiers found the doctor passed out at the beach, later in the day. They had looked for him when Julian hadn’t shown up to treat the Count. His cheeks were bleeding, his clothes were torn, he looked as if he’d been in a nasty fight. Several items of clothing, both his and strange ones, lied around him. He was holding a yellow piece of cloth tight into his hands.

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought we didn't get enough of a reaction from Julian when we figure out what truly happened to the MC during the Plague. We know what Asra did, but here is my take on how the dear doctor would have found out, how he'd have reacted. It's a little far-fetched (or not) and heavily inspired by ancient Greek mourning customs, as well as how Greek Tragedies developed plot-wise. I hope you guys like it!


End file.
